


Nowhere With You

by canistakahari



Series: Bones-breaks-a-leg-'verse [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hanukkah, Holidays, M/M, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim’s annual Hannukah traditions include ice fishing with his brother Sam in Iowa, growing a beard, spending the holiday with his entire family at the farmhouse, and eating his weight in latkes. This year, he’s also bringing Bones to meet his mother for the first time. It’s a challenge to keep Bones from imploding in a ball of anxiety. Luckily, Jim is a fan of challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere With You

**Author's Note:**

> A modern-day Trek AU written for space_wrapped 2011. Also, this is entirely affectingly’s fault. No surprise there. She wanted beard!fic. I don’t know, man, [bearded Chris Pine](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v424/canis_takahari/001ewfys.jpg) is a crime against nature, but here he is, along with [bearded Gabriel Macht](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v424/canis_takahari/509.jpg). Gabriel will be playing Sam Kirk in this outing. Title courtesy the song [“Nowhere With You”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hljW9uOcFpM) by Joel Plaskett Emergency, one of my definitive Jim Kirk songs.

Ice fishing, when you get right down to it, is pretty much balls.  
  
It involves sitting in a collapsible wooden hut for hours on end and then staring down a small hole in the ice while waiting for the tug on the line that indicates you’ve either got a fish on the other end or you’ve somehow caught a boot, part of someone’s rusty engine, or a dead body.  
  
(Not that Jim’s ever caught a dead body.  _Yet_. He lives in hope.)  
  
But basically it’s all the non-excitement of regular fishing, except instead of sprawling inside a rowboat in warm summer sun, drinking beer and napping most of the day away, you hunch inside a frigid shack in the depths of winter and freeze your motherfucking ass off.  
  
It’s what Jim’s done with his big brother Sam every single winter since Jim was eight years old.  
  
Being eight years old and not having a father when every other kid at school cannot shut up about all the hunting/fishing/sledding/skiing/snowman-making they’re doing with  _their_  dads can subdue even the most gregarious and independent and devil-may-care of Kirks.  
  
Jim had spent the entire morning with his nose pressed to the window watching the kids next door build a snow fort with their dad, and Sam, being older and wiser and more sensitive to these sorts of things than he’d ever like to admit, had taken one look at Jim and said, “Hey, want to go sledding with me?”  
  
Sledding? Going down the hill behind Riverside Elementary had a certain appeal, particularly when the snow got all packed down and icy and a trip down had an 80% chance of hurling you into the air, but they went sledding all the time. Jim hunched down and scowled as Mr. Wilson picked up his son and carried him around the yard on his shoulders. “No,” he muttered. “You broke my saucer, anyway.”  
  
Jim heard footsteps and the next time Sam spoke, he was standing beside Jim at the window. “Skiing?”  
  
“You don’t know how to ski,” pointed out Jim.  
  
Sam huffed noisily. “Hunting?” he tried, even though Jim didn’t think Sam wanted to kill animals any more than he did. Sam very gingerly picked spiders up with a sheet of paper and a cup and put them outside rather than squashing them.   
  
“No,” said Jim with distaste.  
  
Sam scowled at him with all the impatient might he could muster and Jim could practically see him mentally skimming what winter activities could possibly remain that might capture Jim’s interest that their mother would allow them to do alone together. “…Ice fishing?” he suggested doubtfully.  
  
Jim gave him all his attention, surprising them both. The tip of his nose was red and cold from pressing to the window and Jim rubbed it and briefly examined the smudge he’d left behind on the windowpane. (He’d later blame it on the cat.) “Ice fishing?” echoed Jim. “You can fish in the winter?”  
  
“Sure,” said Sam, shrugging. “You get this special saw and cut a hole in the ice. The fish swim around underneath.”  
  
Jim made a face. “Sounds cold.”  
  
“You put these wooden houses up. Like you’re camping,” continued Sam. “And you bring a camp stove with you and make soup and coffee.”  
  
“Hot chocolate?” suggested Jim, his face brightening.  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Why not? You just gotta bring a pot and cocoa mix for the camp stove and then you can boil the snow.”  
  
Jim was, like any small boy, instantly sold on the promise of as much hot chocolate as he could drink. For the next two weeks, Sam patiently wore down their mother until she gave permission for them to go, and all Jim could talk about was how his big brother was taking him ice fishing.  
  
“Alone?” asked Danny Trang doubtfully during recess the following Monday at school.  
  
“Your mom is letting you?” added Eloise Williams. She frowned disbelievingly. “How old is your brother?”  
  
“Thirteen,” Jim said proudly. He even puffed his chest out a little. “Uh huh. Just the two of us. If I catch a fish I’ll bring it to school.”  
  
(Jim caught exactly one fish and was so surprised that he dropped it straight back into the water, but Sam magnanimously gave him  _his_  fish. Without telling either Sam or his mother, Jim carefully packed the fish in his lunchbox and took it to school. The time it spent out of refrigeration meant that Jim smelled like dead fish for nearly a week, but it was a proud week.)  
  
And so, a tradition was born. As they got older, they found ice fishing locations further and further from Riverside, and their trip expanded from one day to an entire week. By the time Jim was eighteen, most of what they packed in terms of sustenance consisted of beer, hot dogs, and bulk bags of M&Ms, and they would drive north through Iowa City, up through Cedar Rapids and Waterloo, before veering northwest and finally hitting Clear Lake.  
  
Ice fishing is also strictly Jim-and-Sam time.  
  
When Jim apologetically explains to Bones that he’s going to be flying to Iowa with Sam a little more than a week earlier than the first night of Hanukkah, Bones just stares at him incredulously.  
  
“So, it’s not that you’re not allowed to come, exactly, but... you’re not allowed to come,” says Jim anxiously.  
  
“I’m not allowed to come ice fishing,” repeats Bones.  
  
“No. We’ve never let anyone else come. Not my mom, not Aurelan, no one. It’s a thing,” says Jim. “Our thing.”  
  
“The cute part of all this is that you think my feelings will actually be hurt by learning I’m not allowed to come freeze on a lake with you and your brother,” murmurs Bones, transferring the brunt of his attention to the paperwork in front of him. “Considering you’ve just described an activity that sounds like the last thing I’d ever want to do, no, kid, I’m not sad, or mad, or any other rhyming three-letter words.”  
  
The tension leaks out of Jim’s shoulders. “You’re not?”  
  
“No,” replies Bones firmly. “I’m prepared to deal with winter in Iowa because I know your mother lives in a well-insulated and centrally heated house. I am  _not_  prepared to sit in a plywood hut on a frozen lake and dredge up my dinner from under a sheet of ice for a week. Besides, I’d never be able to get that extra week off. It’s December, Jim. The holidays are like a carnival free-for-all in terms of accidents. Idiots on ice. I’m lucky I can even spend all of Hanukkah with you and your family. I’ll fly into Iowa with Aurelan in time to join you at your mom’s house on the 18th, okay?”   
  
“Okay,” says Jim happily. Then he drops to his knees, knocks all of Bones’s work out of his hands and pushes Bones’s thighs apart. “You’re getting the best blowjob  _ever_.”  
  
“You degenerate jackass!” shouts Bones in genuine dismay. “Those pages were in  _order_!” Jim notes that despite his horror, Bones makes no move to push Jim out of the way or even stop him undoing Bones’s jeans. In fact, his hand automatically settles on Jim’s shoulder, curling around his neck. Jim has him trained very well.  
  
“I’ll pick them up later,” says Jim dismissively. “Blowjob now.”  
  
“If it’s not good enough to leave me cross-eyed, you’re picking up all those papers with your teeth,” mutters Bones. He jerks and utters a smothered moan as Jim dips his hand into his jeans and wraps his fingers around his hardening cock.  
  
“I’ll do that even if it  _does_  leave you cross-eyed,” says Jim, giving Bones a squeeze. “I’ll make it into a sexy dance.”  
  
Bones looks ready to launch into a lengthy diatribe on what exactly he thinks of Jim’s  _sexy_   _dances_  so Jim takes that as an opportunity to wrap his lips around Bones’s dick, cutting him off at the pass.  
  


oOo

  
  
“What do you think Aurelan and Leonard talk about when we’re not around?” asks Sam. “They get along disturbingly well.”  
  
“They probably judge our penis size,” says Jim promptly. “And complain about how we wear shoes in the house and seem genetically incapable of successfully placing dirty clothing  _inside_  a laundry hamper rather than in the two foot radius  _around_  it.”  
  
“Maybe they don’t even talk about us,” muses Sam. He’s bent over his fishing road, baiting his hook.  
  
“Maybe,” says Jim doubtfully. “Except they always go silent if I come into a room and they’re both in there.”  
  
Sam smothers a snort. “Jimmy, ever stop to think they’re just fucking with you?”  
  
“Aurelan wouldn’t do that to me,” sniffs Jim. “She adores me.”  
  
“And Leonard?” Sam laughs.  
  
“Well,” says Jim, eyebrows knitting together into a frown. “Obviously he adores me too. He just demonstrates his adoration through irritable bitching and an endless rainbow spectrum of scowls.”  
  
“He does frown rather well. Coffee?” suggests Sam. He leans his rod against the wall and gets to feet with a crunch of ice under his boots and the stiff crinkle of cold Gore-tex.  
  
“Yes,” says Jim. “All the coffee. Give it to me.”  
  
There is a stretch of comfortable silence as Jim sits on his mittened hands and Sam pours out mugs of hot coffee and the ice shifts beneath them with deep, bone-weary cracks that used to terrify Jim when he was a child.  
  
Then Sam flops down in a puff of frigid air and pushes a mug at Jim, saying, “So, Leonard is gonna meet Mom, huh.”  
  
Jim buries his nose in the steam and closes his eyes, breathing in the rich scent of coffee. “Uh huh. Whatever you do, don’t ask him if he’s nervous about it unless you want to risk his head exploding,” advises Jim. “Watching the vein on his forehead twitch is kind of hilarious, too. He’s absolutely bricking himself, Sam. At first I thought it was just his usual neurotic attitude getting a little boost from the Christmas rush at the hospital, but then I caught him rehearsing what he’s going to say to her when he meets her and he nearly ate my face. He can be truly terrifying when he’s nervous.”  
  
“You remember what he did when you invited him to come meet me and Aurelan,” shrugs Sam. “He’s got some issues. He told me his ex-mother-in-law hated him. He’s probably worried Mom is going to hate him too.”  
  
“Mom is probably going to like him more than she likes both of us combined,” grumbles Jim. “He does that whole Southern charm thing when he’s in close proximity to strangers and new acquaintances. One hint of that drawl and an offer to pull out her chair and she’ll be wrapped around his finger.”  
  
“He’s going to make us look bad, isn’t he,” says Sam with a sigh, giving his rod a wiggle.  
  
“So bad,” mutters Jim grimly. “Then again, he hates to fly, so this is like a double-whammy of anxiety for him. We’ll be lucky if he gets off the plane and can still walk. He might be speaking in tongues. There’s no way of knowing.”  
  
“I’ve got something,” yells Sam suddenly, his fishing line going taut as he jumps to his feet.  
  
“Ten bucks says it’s a rock or a boot,” says Jim. “Boot! Boot!  _Boot_!”  
  
“FISH!” bellows Sam, hauling up hard on his rod.   
  
“I hate you so much,” mutters Jim sullenly when he realises that Sam has not only caught the first fish, he’s managed to land a  _walleye_.   
  
Sam cackles in his face like he’s not at all a mature lawyer with a BMW in the driveway and two small children, and sits back down to remove the hook. “I take cash or credit.”  
  
“And I’m going to steal your fish, strand you on an ice floe, and send you out to sea. Don’t worry, Bones is a doctor. We’ll provide for Aurelan and the girls,” mutters Jim sourly.   
  
“Speaking of Leonard,” says Sam cheerfully, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “How’s the sex life? Are you satisfied and fulfilled?”  
  
Jim lets out a completely involuntary sound that bears passing resemblance to the noise cats make when you accidentally step on their tails. “Oh my god,” he says, putting his hands over his ears. “ _Oh my god_. Tradition over. I’m going home. I’m putting  _myself_ on an ice floe.”  
  
“What?” says Sam innocently. “I’m just registering polite interest about my little brother’s personal life. Sisters talk about stuff like this. Aurelan told me so.”  
  
“Please, just let me die,” chants Jim, turning his gaze up to the roof of the hut.   
  
“Is he loud? He seems like he’d be loud in bed,” continues Sam serenely.  
  
“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” babbles Jim. “Clearly I never should’ve allowed you to meet Bones. Hanukkah is cancelled.”  
  
“Jimmy,” Sam says, plowing relentlessly on. “Just tell me one thing. You use protection, right? I’m only asking out of  _concern_.”  
  
“Oh dear lord, look over there, the camp stove is on fire,” says Jim loudly, pointing over Sam’s shoulder.   
  
Bless his big brother for turning to look. Really. He’s the best. Jim reaches for the walleye.  
  
When Sam turns back around, Jim slaps him in the face with his fish.  
  


oOo

  
  
In the end, Jim and Sam come home triumphant with a cooler full of gutted and cleaned fish caught on the last day, mild frostbite on their cheeks, and two spectacular beards between them.  
  
(Jim  _wishes_ he could grow two beards of his own.)  
  
Upon witnessing Jim and Sam in all their frosty glory when she comes to greet them, Aurelan just makes the same distraught noise she makes every single year. Bones, on the other hand... Well, poor naive innocent Bones has never seen Jim with more than a day’s growth of stubble.  
  
“Jesus  _Christ_ what is on your damn face,” grinds out Bones after he’s finished spitting his drink all over the kitchen table.   
  
“Bones!” cries Jim, throwing his hands into the air. He hasn’t even taken off his coat or pulled off his mittens. “What, this?” He gestures to his face. “It’s manly and virile! Come here and give us a kiss, it wants to say hello.”  
  
Bones seems to be momentarily struck dumb by the rich growth of hair on Jim’s face. Jim allows himself a moment to revel in the silence because he knows it will not last.  
  
Sure enough, Bones’s expression makes the abrupt change from outright shock to palpable disgust, and Jim is pretty sure he’s about to straight-up murder Jim with his eyes. What the hell else is there to do besides throw his arms wide and move in for a hug, making loud smacking kissy noises while he does it?   
  
“Oh no you don’t!” yells Bones. He manages to get a palm plastered over Jim’s face, holding him back at arm’s length as Jim advances on him. “Jim! Get away from me, you deranged gorilla, oh  _god_ —”  
  
Jim knocks away Bones’s hand, pulling him in close and rubbing his beard all over Bones’s jaw. Bones makes helpless pained noises, hands still pushing at Jim’s shoulders. “I haven’t seen you in a week,” croons Jim. “Love meeeeee.”  
  
“Oh god,” groans Bones faintly. “It smells like fish and stale beer!  _Get away from me_.”  
  
Jim is distantly aware of Aurelan and Sam’s helpless laughter. He smiles wide and crouches down to wrap both arms around Bones’s thighs, just under his ass, lifting him up as Jim straightens. Bones makes a horrified noise and predictably loses his balance, tipping neatly over Jim’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry.   
  
“I am carrying you into the bedroom,” declares Jim, “and I’m having my wicked way with you.”  
  
“Oh,” says Sam mildly, “so  _now_ you have no problem talking about your sex life.”  
  
“Help me,” begs Bones. “I’m not getting anywhere  _near_ his face until that thing on it is  _dead_.”  
  
“Will you at least shower with me?” asks Jim hopefully. Bones’s dangling legs swing dangerously close to his crotch and Jim hastily puts him back on his feet. Bones huffs and gives him a final flustered thump on the shoulder, glowering at him.  
  
“No. You’re going to go wash off a week’s worth of sweat and fish odour and then you’re going to  _shave_. And shave again. Maybe you should shave three times.”  
  
“Uh huh,” says Jim. “Of course.”  
  
Like hell Jim is going to shave. Jim is going to teach Bones the art of  _appreciating the beard_.   
  


oOo

  
  
Bones appears utterly unsurprised that Jim is still bearded and glorious when he slides into bed with him after a long, hot shower and a neat little trim.  
  
“Well,” mutters Bones, grudgingly accepting a kiss on the cheek with a wrinkled up nose and a huff, “at least you don’t smell like the entire fishing trip is still residing on your face.”  
  
“Not a fan of the fuzz, huh?” teases Jim, planting another kiss on Bones’s pouty lips.  
  
Bones resolutely shakes his head. “Not on myself, and not on anyone else,” he replies, though he puts down his book and reaches up to curl his fingers into Jim’s hair, kissing him stubbornly on the forehead and then on the temple. “I missed you.”  
  
“Missed you, too,” murmurs Jim, smiling. “How was the flight? Did you terrorize Aurelan?”  
  
“No, it was okay,” says Bones. “I had a valium. Slept through most of it. She watched movies.”  
  
“Good,” says Jim firmly. He cups Bones’s face and kisses him fiercely on the mouth, nibbling and sucking on Bones’s lower lip until he opens to Jim, parting his lips so that Jim can lick inside. Despite the assurance that his flight was fine, Bones is still thrumming with tension, his shoulders tight and his movements jerky and hesitant. Jim slides his hands up to Bones’s stiff shoulders, pushing him back against the pillow and straddling his hips. “Bones. Relax.”  
  
“I am relaxed,” snaps Bones, settling his hands on Jim’s hips. “Look at me, relaxing. I am  _so_  fucking relaxed.”  
  
Jim rolls his eyes and reaches down to rub a palm over Bones’s soft cock. “I’m going to loosen you up if it’s the last thing I do.”  
  
“Is that so,” says Bones flatly. “Then you accurately predicted I might kill you if that beard remains a permanent fixture.”  
  
“I’ll shave it off, I promise,” soothes Jim, scooting down Bones’s thighs to gain better access to his cock. “But first, I’m going to teach you to love it. And then you’ll miss it, and wish for its triumphant return.”  
  
Bones’s voice is a little strained as he says, “I will never love that beard as much as you do.”  
  
Okay, so that’s probably true. But still, Jim does not make promises he doesn’t intend to keep. And right now, he is ravishing Bones with his facial hair and working all those knots out of the man’s tortured back. Maybe by the time Bones is a puddle on the mattress, fucked out and dizzy with sex, he will forget to be so nervous about meeting Jim’s mom.  
  
And wow, Jim loves his mom, but she is  _not_ what he wants to be thinking about right now. Pushing that thought out of his mind, Jim slides Bones’s boxers down his hips, tugging and pulling on his filling erection.   
  
Bones’s breathing is picking up, and he’s doing that thing where he tries really hard not to push into every touch and Jim wants all of him. Jim wants to burrow against Bones and rut into his hip and kiss him until Bones’s lips are swollen and red and his chin and cheeks are rubbed raw.  
  
“You are so stubborn,” hisses Jim, smirking. He squeezes Bones’s cock and puts a hand under his knee. “And I’m going to blow you, so get these fine legs up over my shoulders.”  
  
“You are not blowing me,” says Bones, putting a restraining hand on Jim’s shoulder. “You can fuck me, or jerk me off, but that roadkill on your face isn’t getting anywhere near my dick.”  
  
Jim’s mouth flattens out into a thin line. “Legs. Shoulders.  _Now_.”  
  
For a moment, Bones just stares at him, visibly weighing the pros and cons of oral sex when the partner sucking cock is heavily bearded. But Jim’s also got his hand wrapped around Bones’s erection and he can feel it twitch eagerly at Jim’s command. Bones has already made up his mind.  
  
“I want to be clear,” says Bones, shifting to allow Jim to manipulate his legs over Jim’s shoulders. “That I don’t in any way object to a blowjob. Especially a blowjob from you. I  _do_ object to getting a rash in the process.”  
  
Jim grins, patiently dragging Bones down the pillows so that he’s lying half-propped up and Jim is bent directly over Bones’s flushed cock, folding him up against the bed.   
  
“Goddammit,” huffs Bones in surprise, hips jerking as Jim breathes onto the head of his dick. “You’re going to give me beard-burn.”  
  
“And you’re going to  _love it_ ,” Jim says firmly.   
  
Then he gets himself a mouthful of cock and Bones is pretty much rendered incapable of speech.  
  
Jim’s careful at first, flattening his tongue against the underside of Bones’s shaft, pursing his lips and sucking gently, keeping his jaw away from the sensitive skin of Bones’s thighs. He lulls Bones into a false sense of security, leisurely tonguing his dick until Bones has tossed his head back, hips making these little aborted rolls while trying to gain more suction. Then, when Bones is curling his toes and his cheeks are flushed pink, Jim inches forward, swallows Bones’s dick down until it bumps the back of his throat, and nudges his bristly chin against Bones’s perineum.  
  
The reaction is instantaneous and amazing.   
  
Bones grunts, his entire body jerking like a shock’s just run down his spine. Jim slowly teases his lips off Bones’s cock, wraps his fist around it, and scrapes his cheek over the tender skin where Bones’s thigh meets his torso.  
  
The sound that comes out of Bones’s mouth is something akin to a strangled whine. He shudders at the rough glide of Jim’s beard against his skin.  
  
“Gonna just stare at my cock or are you gonna finish sucking it?” Bones asks roughly.   
  
“Are you going to give up and admit the beard is luxurious and sexy?”  
  
“No,” says Bones. “You can’t make me.”   
  
Jim begs to differ.   
  
“I will happily admit you have a mouth like sin, though,” Bones adds.  
  
Jim ignores him, breathing on the head of Bones’s dick just to make him twitch again, then hitches his thigh over his shoulder and sucks on his balls for a while.   
  
By the time Bones has been reduced to a quivering, unintelligible mess, his cock bobbing hard and flushed right above Jim’s nose, Jim is ready to count this evening as a pre-emptive victory despite the fact that he hasn’t even held Bones’s cock in his mouth for longer than a minute yet.   
  
The fact that Bones has his thighs clamped around Jim’s neck like a vise is pretty much all the validation he needs.   
  
A full-body shudder trembles through Bones as Jim draws away, cheeks pressed to reddening flesh, and Bones has the wherewithal to loosen his death-grip, allowing Jim to pull back far enough to get his mouth back around his dick. Then, with both hands on Bones’s hips, Jim hauls him forward and swallows him down.  
  
Bones lets out a ravaged sound, hips bucking, and then it’s like he just can’t help himself; he pumps his cock into Jim’s mouth with short, tight movements that show he’s desperately trying  _not_  to fuck Jim’s mouth even though he dearly wants to. Jim clutches his ass and urges him on, Bones’s thighs locked tight around his jaw while Bones rolls his hips fretfully and utters a tiny broken grunt with each uneven thrust.   
  
The friction is enough to make Jim’s eyes water.   
  
His chin is sloppy-wet with drool, his cheeks burning, over-worked jaw getting sore. Bones’s legs are trembling; he’s close now, hovering on the verge. Determined to make him come, Jim digs his fingers into the firm flesh of his ass and gives the underside of his cock a little teasing scrape with his teeth. Bones arches and comes with a sharp cry.   
  
As soon as his legs fall open and Jim can pull off his dick with a wet  _pop_ , Jim grabs the lube, slicks up his cock, and pushes into Bones with a deep sigh.   
  
It’s that tight clench around his own aching cock, the flutter of tired muscles and the low groan muffled against Jim’s shoulder that undoes Jim, has him rocking into Bones with hard, uncoordinated thrusts, chasing his own release.   
  
Bones is only half-there as a make-out partner, too fucked-out to kiss back with anything more than distracted confusion, so Jim just nuzzles at his throat, sucks hickeys into the soft skin and rubs his cheeks against it to make him tremble.   
  
He comes with his tongue in Bones’s mouth, one hand cupping Bones’s chin to keep him in place.   
  
“I itch,” mumbles Bones, squirming against Jim irritably.   
  
“You look like you’ve had an allergic reaction,” agrees Jim, pressing one final rough-cheeked kiss to the corner of Bones’s mouth.   
  
Bones fidgets and lets out an unhappy noise. “I dislike you.”  
  
“No you don’t,” murmurs Jim, kissing his nose.  
  
“No,” sighs Bones. “I really don’t.”  
  


oOo

  
  
The next day, they drag themselves out of bed to the smell of pancakes and coffee and join Aurelan and Sam in the living room, lazily eating off plates in their laps while candy-coloured cartoon ponies cavort around on the television.   
  
“What,” says Jim eventually, unable to tear his gaze from the screen, “is this?”  
  
“ _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_ ,” says Aurelan.  
  
“Shh,” says Sam.  
  
Jim watches with rapt focus, until he gradually becomes aware of near-constant movement next to him on the sofa.  
  
Bones fidgets. Bones readjusts his jeans. Bones puts aside his plate to avoid knocking it to the floor as he squirms restlessly.   
  
Then Sam glances over at Bones just as he reaches down to scratch his inner thigh and pegs him with a knowing look.   
  
Bones turns a hectic shade of red previously unknown to the colour spectrum.  
  
Jim has a lot of trouble hiding his laughter and he thinks maybe he shouldn’t tell Bones about the beard-burn creeping up his throat from under his collar just in case he ever wants to get laid again.  
  
It works, though.   
  
Bones is so busy cursing Jim for branding him with beard-induced rashes he almost completely forgets to tie himself into knots about the impending holiday.  
  


oOo

  
  
Winona Kirk arrives, as she is wont to do, in a swirl of snow and a big furry hat, carting a massive duffel bag behind her.   
  
“Oh god,” she says as she holds her arms out to Sam for a hug, “The traditional Hanukkah beards are thicker than ever.”  
  
Sam is a good head taller than Winona and he kisses her on the top of the head. “Aurelan likes my beard,” he says. “And I do what I want. Are the girls staying an extra day with Grandpa Tiberius, then?”  
  
“Girls? What girls?” says Winona, utterly deadpan. She rolls her eyes. “No,” she continues dryly, letting go of Sam and raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ve just forgotten your children in my truck. No big thang. Of course they’re with Gramps. Hello, sweetheart,” she says to Aurelan, squeezing her warmly. “Apparently your husband loses brain cells in correlation to length of beard.”  
  
“It’s got nothing to do with the beard,” Aurelan says to Winona in a stage whisper. “Just between you and me.”  
  
“And that’s why I’ve always liked you,” Jim says to Aurelan.   
  
Winona turns to Jim and eyes him critically. “Oh, Jimmy. What is happening to your face? I don’t understand.”  
  
“What?” says Jim defensively, pulling Winona into a hug. “I even trimmed it this time!”  
  
Winona pats him on the cheek. “If I attack you in your sleep with an electric shaver I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”  
  
“Bones will probably hold me down for you,” says Jim cheerfully. Bones, who is unsuccessfully attempting to hide behind Jim, doing that neurotic hovering thing he does when he’s painfully nervous. “Mom, this is Bones.” He steps out of the way and gives Bones a little push.  
  
Winona lights up. “So  _this_ is Leonard!”  
  
Bones freezes. Then he hesitantly holds out a hand. “Ms. Kirk. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”  
  
“Winona! Call me Winona, Leonard,” says Winona, taking Bones’s hand and using it to reel him into a warm hug. She gives him a tight squeeze, up on her toes to get her arms around his neck. She meets Jim’s gaze over Bones’s broad shoulders and gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Jim beams.   
  
“I’ll try to remember that,” murmurs Bones, running his fingers anxiously through his hair when she releases him.   
  
“Winona,” she repeats. “Like the girl from  _Beetlejuice_. Every time you accidentally call me ma’am, I can sing the Banana Boat song to remind you.”  
  
“Mom,” groans Jim. “Don’t punish him for his charming Southern boy mannerisms.”  
  
“Who says it’s a punishment?” demands Winona. She takes Bones’s hand and begins to pull him into the kitchen. “C’mon, Leonard. Lets get all the awkward getting-to-know-each-other out of the way. You can help me make the latkes.”  
  
Bones throws a petrified look Jim’s way as he’s drawn helplessly into Winona’s wake.   
  
“I love you!” calls Jim. “I’ll wait for you!”  
  
“So,” says Winona’s receding voice. “Jim tells me you’re a doctor.”  
  
“Yes, m—”  
  
“DAYLIGHT COME AND ME WAN’ GO HOOOME—”  
  
“ _WINONA_. YES, WINONA.”  
  
“I love our mom,” says Jim.  
  
“I think she missed her calling,” says Sam.  
  
“As what?” scoffs Jim. “An interrogator?”  
  


oOo

  
  
When Jim chances a peek into the kitchen half an hour later, it’s to find Winona and Bones side by side at the kitchen island, Bones patiently grating potatoes while Winona mixes batter.   
  
They’re talking in voices too low for Jim to hear, and he only briefly entertains the notion of getting down on his hands and knees and crawling in to eavesdrop. He’s sure if it was anything particularly terrible Bones would look significantly more panicked, and right now he looks perfectly at ease.   
  
“Don’t spy on them,” hisses Sam, appearing from  _thin fucking air_ at Jim’s elbow.   
  
When Jim is finished leaping a mile and having a myocardial infarction, he shoves Sam in the arm, prompting Sam to push him right back. Then Jim leaps on him and they go crashing down to the floor in a heap of childhood regression. Their quiet but furious scuffle is interrupted only by the telephone, and Sam drags himself to the hall table to answer it with Jim wrapped around his leg.   
  
“Hello?” he wheezes. “ _Jim, get off, I’m trying to_ —Grandpa? What? Yeah, it’s Sammy.”  
  
“It’s  _Sammy_ ,” mimics Jim, while Sam scowls down at him and shakes his leg in an attempt to dislodge Jim. “Say hi to Grandpa for me!”  
  
“Jim says hi,” Sam parrots. “Jim also wanted to tell you he’s sorry for lighting the barn on fire when he was—OW! He just  _bit_ me!”  
  
“You swore you’d never tell!” growls Jim. “ _Betrayal_!”  
  
“I—what? Oh, yeah, okay. We’ll be there in an hour to get them. Thanks, Grandpa. Bye.”  
  
“Traitor!” barks Jim. “Turncoat!”  
  
“Would you  _shut up_? And get the hell off,” says Sam, giving him another firm shake. “I’ve gotta get Aurelan. Grandpa’s truck won’t start and he wants us to pick up the girls before the cab comes to take him and Grandma to the airport.”  
  
“I can’t believe they’re abandoning Hanukkah this year,” sighs Jim, untangling himself from Sam’s legs.   
  
“Yeah, and going to  _Cancun_ ,” says Sam, getting to his feet. “Where it’s warm and their bones won’t hurt in the cold. I don’t blame them.”  
  
Jim sighs and turns over onto his back, looking up at Sam. “See if you can get a jar of Grandma’s applesauce while you’re there.”  
  


oOo

  
  
That night, after Aurelan and Sam return with the girls in tow and Winona frees Bones from the kitchen, they all gather by the living room window to light the first Hanukkah candle.   
  
Their menorah is an old faded silver. They’ve used the same one since Jim was a small child and Winona seems disinclined to get a new one.  
  
“That’s the  _shamash_ ,” says Jim quietly to Bones, as Winona uses a match to light one of the candles. “It’s the helper candle. You light it first and use it to light the rest. You can’t use the Hanukkah candles.”  
  
Bones nods silently, watching quietly as Winona uses the  _shamash_ to light the first candle, reciting the  _Sheheheyanu_ prayer as she sets the  _shamash_ in the centre of the menorah. Jim murmurs the rest of the prayers along with Winona and Sam, watching the candles flicker in the dim light of the room.   
  
As their voices tail off, Bones’s hand gropes into Jim’s, giving his fingers a brief squeeze and then holding on firmly. Jim tilts his head back against Bones’s shoulder.   
  
“Thank you,” Bones says softly.   
  
Jim doesn’t ask what Bones is thanking him for. Just winds their fingers together snugly and waits for Winona to announce it’s time for dinner.   
  


oOo

  
  
“I ate too much,” groans Jim, flopping back in bed and holding his belly.   
  
Latkes and salad and sufganiyot and cake and wine had been consumed in quantity and gifts had been eagerly torn into. Every single family member had also showered the two girls in chocolate Hanukkah _gelt_  and then watched as they immediately engaged in a fierce dreidel battle that had to be stopped by Aurelan when Alice burst into tears after losing her entire stash of coins to a surprisingly cutthroat Holly.   
  
After the tears had been dried and the coins divided evenly once more, Jim had played Lego with Alice and Holly on the carpet while Bones sat on the floor beside them, his legs stretched out and his eyelids drooping sleepily.   
  
Seeing Bones there, settled comfortably alongside Jim’s family in the house Jim grew up in, had nurtured a happy little jolt of something warm in the pit of Jim’s stomach.   
  
“Me too,” admits Bones, sighing deeply as he sits on the end of the bed. “That was really good.”  
  
“Mmm,” hums Jim, closing his eyes. “I could fall asleep right here.”  
  
“Well, don’t,” says Bones. “Come have a bath with me.”  
  
Jim opens his eyes. Has he gone through the looking glass? Was there a rip in the space time continuum? “Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” says Bones. “It’ll be nice.”  
  
And that’s how Jim ends up sitting in the bathtub while Bones shaves off his beard.   
  
“My virility,” moans Jim.  
  
“I assure you, this beard has nothing to do with your virility,” mumbles Bones, frowning in concentration. “Now stop talking. Your face moves when you talk. I don’t want to cut you.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“ _I will cut you_ ,” growls Bones, clutching Jim’s chin. “If you let me finish this without slicing your face open, I will suck your dick.”  
  
Jim shuts his jaw with a click. With a furrowed brow, an unsurprisingly deft hand, and a speed which partly astonishes Jim, Bones efficiently finishes shaving Jim’s face.   
  
“There,” says Bones. “Perfect.” He applies his lips generously to Jim’s mouth in a warm kiss. Then he winks, hiding a smile, and crouches down between Jim’s legs in the water.   
  
“Now?” croaks Jim.  
  
“Now,” confirms Bones, his eyes dark and playful. “I can hold my breath for nearly a minute. I think I can get you off before I need to come back up for air. What do you think?”  
  
“I think you’re the sexiest person I’ve ever met,” Jim says faintly.  
  
Underwater blowjobs?  
  
 _Awesome_.   
  


oOo

  
  
Jim wakes up the next morning beardless and alone.   
  
Bones’s side of the bed is cool and Jim finds himself reaching across the crisp sheets and sleepily nosing close to a warm body that isn’t actually there. When Jim finally manages to achieve a level of consciousness adequate for basic movement and brain function, he drags himself out of his delightfully warm nest and shrugs into a hoodie printed with a fading  _Riverside High School_  decal before padding downstairs to the kitchen.  
  
He’s lured by delicious smells and the promise of coffee.  
  
Happily, the kitchen also yields Bones, who’s sitting at the island with his hands wrapped around a mug, his eyelids still drooping and his shoulders hunched.   
  
“You stole my boyfriend,” accuses Jim, directing his wild claim at Winona. She’s standing at the stove turning pancakes.  
  
“We were talking,” protests Winona. “We’re allowed to talk.”  
  
Bones grunts his assent, still focused on his coffee.  
  
“It creeps me out,” admits Jim. “What could you possibly be talking about? The paranoid, egotistical part of me—”  
  
“So, about 50%,” interrupts Winona.  
  
“You hush,” scowls Jim. “That  _tiny_ portion of my brain can’t help dwelling on the fact that you must be discussing me because that’s the only thing you have in common, considering you’ve only known each other for about 24 hours.”  
  
“Not true,” murmurs Bones, vocalizing for the first time, his voice a half-awake rumble. “We both like black coffee. And we’ve come to the conclusion that we hate beards.”  
  
Winona finishes with the pancakes, plopping the last one on a baking dish with its mountain of siblings and pushing the dish into the oven to keep it warm.   
  
“Come here, kiddo,” she says, pulling Jim into a hug. She kisses him on his now-smooth cheek, and then, before he can detach himself, she turns the hug into a headlock and noogies him while Jim splutters and flails helplessly.  
  
“Huh,” says Bones. “I gotta try that sometime.”   
  


oOo

  
  
That night, after they light the second candle and eat dinner, Jim goes for a shower and when he emerges pink and steamy, he can’t find Bones.   
  
And, to be fair, Bones has a good hiding place. Jim never would’ve thought to look for him outside.   
  
It isn’t until Jim is sitting by the living room window, watching the candles sputter and burn down, their light flickering against the scuffed metal of the menorah, that he notices there’s someone sitting hunched down on the porch swing that hangs below the window.   
  
The dimly lit figure is suspiciously Bones-shaped.   
  
Jim pulls on a coat and goes to him.   
  
“Hey,” he says quietly, sinking down next to Bones on the snowy bench. “You okay?”  
  
Bones is bundled up in the thick coat Jim knows he bought especially for this trip. His hands are crammed into his pockets, there’s a thick woolly scarf wound around his face, and he’s wearing one of Sam’s hats. The kind with ear flaps.   
  
“Hey,” replies Bones. He makes room for Jim, accommodating him naturally. “You’re going to freeze like that, dammit. You need a hat. Do up your damn coat.”  
  
“Bones,” says Jim. “I was born here. I’m genetically predisposed to be better insulated than you are. Now what’s eating you?”  
  
“I was just thinking,” Bones says. He’s staring straight ahead, eyes on the distant copse of shadowy trees at the edge of the Kirk property.   
  
Jim waits. Eventually he’s rewarded.  
  
“You spend an awful lot of time at my place,” Bones says at length. “And I don’t sleep so well these days when I’m working a double shift and you’re in class and I don’t get to see you. I was talkin’ with your mom. I like her. I think she likes me, too. And she was sensible about it. My place is closer to campus. You’re there most of the week anyway.”  
  
Just like that, Jim feels warm up from his toes to his fingertips. “Are you asking me to move in with you?” he says dumbly.   
  
“No,” snaps Bones. “I’m breaking up with you. Of  _course_  I’m asking you to move in with me. Why the hell would you keep paying rent on a place you’re never in, anyway?”  
  
“It’s only sensible,” Jim says, still a little stunned. He’s not actually sure why he’s so stunned. Bones is right. It  _is_  only sensible, and he could really use the money he’s currently spending on rent. He sleeps maybe two nights a week at his own apartment. Now that he really thinks about it, his apartment is an enormous money pit.   
  
“So it’s settled then,” Bones says gruffly. He’s looking at Jim sidelong, his expression tentative and guarded. “You actually want to?”  
  
“Well, no, I hate you and I don’t want to spend any time with you,” says Jim. “That’s why I’ve been dating you for months. I’m just a masochist and I’m in this for the hate sex. You’re a dumbass, Bones.”  
  
“Fine,” says Bones. “Then let’s go in, I’m freezing.”  
  
“You’re wearing a  _down coat_.”  
  
Bones scowls. “I don’t like being cold.”  
  
“Is there anything you  _do_  like?”  
  
Jim is smiling, playfully nudging Bones with his shoulder, but when he catches Bones’s eye, Jim’s breath catches at the unexpectedly soft expression on his face.  
  
“Yeah,” says Bones quietly, curling his gloved hand around Jim’s bare fist. Jim leans against his shoulder.  
  
In the window above them, the candlelight dims and fades until just the moon is setting the glittering blanket of crisp snow aglow. Together they sit on the porch swing, watching the snowflakes settle soundlessly on the ground.  
  
Bones is shivering slightly, but Jim isn’t cold at all.


End file.
